Harry Potter and the Hierarchy of Needs
by Rabid Maniac
Summary: Harry Potter was treated horribly by his relatives: worked to the bone, starved, and on rare occasions, beaten. Their poor treatment has left his magic in a state of instability and unpredictability. Watch, as Harry starts Hogwarts and begins to have his needs finally met as according to Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs dictates. Rated Teen for description of child neglect and abuse.


Magic is a very strange thing. For decades, centuries, millennia, wizards and witches have tried to understand it. Though its origins remain obscured to this day, the wise ones of old discovered many things about magic, and how it works. Their knowledge has shaped our very culture from the ground up, dictating how we raise our children, educate the youth, and how the adult world is run. As everybody knows, including the Muggles, the most crucial part of a human life is the formative years, early childhood.

* * *

A child's magic is a delicate thing. While during adolescence the magical core as we understand it is established, the child's magic is in a unique state. Their magic is not in a set "core", instead it is free, a "cloud", if you will. This state of freedom seemingly aligns with the child's state of mind and focus. Simply put: if someone who is dedicated to the acquisition of knowledge will unconsciously make their magic assist them, improving memory and recall. The obvious disadvantage of having one's magic permanently in this state is that it is impossible to gain any sort of control over it, unless the child's driving desire is to completely dominate everything they see. While in this developmental state, there are some things that the magic requires to grow into a healthy adult core.

The first, and by far the most important thing required for a stable adult core is energy. Magic functions in a fashion that completely disregards all known laws of reality. It can create and destroy matter and energy, manipulate gravity, and operates under Aristotelian Physics. Still, the one axiomatic law of the universe is that all work requires energy, so a wizarding child needs enormous amounts of energy. To provide this, most of the Wizarding world's diet is quite high in fat, as it can produce enormous amounts of energy. Magic, interestingly enough, also enhances the digestive system too, allowing the stomach to digest cellulose. This means that all of the plant matter that a wizard eats is digested and converted to energy, unlike how in Muggles it simply is fiber and not digested at all. Since the human body is unused to the increase in blood sugar, the cellulose is converted directly into magical energy.

A magic-enhanced digestive system is only one of the ways that magic helps itself gather energy. Since the chemical reaction that turns sugar into energy releases heat as a by-product, magic takes the radiated heat and through its means, converts it to magical energy as well. A fascinating effect of this is that as a whole, the Wizarding population has an average body temperature that is about 2 degrees Celsius lower than a Muggle. Once the basic needs of food are met for both the child and its magic, things get quite interesting.

It wasn't until the Muggles developed a concept known as the Hierarchy of Needs that we were able to comprehend the levels of magical development. At the most basic level, a person needs to have enough food and water. At the second level is security; safety from threats. Once a child has been alive for about a year, its magic will recognize the situation it is in. If it is safe, then the magic can put less focus on the efficiency of the digestive system to absorb energy from its surroundings. Most Wizarding children spend their time outside. The reason for this is that their magical cloud is absorbing energy from the high-energy wavelengths in sunlight. This phenomenon is repeated in any situation with a high level of ambient energy. The child essentially becomes what the Muggles would call a "black hole" for energy.

The third level of Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs is where much of the Pureblood dogma originated from. Maslow's Third Level was the need to love and be loved; acceptance. When a child has a healthy, loving relationship with their parents or guardians, some of the skills, talents, or abilities can be transferred through the magical link between the two. Many ancient Pureblood families have a book of known family talents and marriage proposals between families are often arranged for a favorable combination of skills. The older the family, the greater chance that a child will inherit more skills, assuming that there is a positive relationship. It is also for this reason that some closely allied families will be so involved together, as there is no bond of blood needed for it, only love. While the heritable skills are many, they only have a minor effect at most. A certain talent in Charms might be inherited, or steady hands to better prepare potion ingredients. Only incredibly rarely are actual abilities created. Parseltounge is the most famous example of a created, heritable ability.

The fourth level is the need for recognition, to achieve. The final two steps on the Hierarchy are not realized until adolescence has begun and the children start school. That is the reason there are so many clubs at magical schools. Acknowledgement by peers allows the magical cloud to stabilize and solidify into a core, allowing for greater control over it. The fifth level simply increases this effect on the core, and is realized when all other levels are achieved: Self-Actualization. Unlocking and achieving potential causes the core to become aligned fully with the wizard's or witch's desires, changing as they do. For example, an Auror, who needs to cast strong defensive and offensive spells, will find their magic focusing on improving its ability in those areas, while the less-used areas, such as mind magics, will become more difficult to perform.

In this way, if a child's needs are met fully, they will become powerful, productive members of society. But, if a child's needs are not met, if instead of being acknowledged by their peers, they are scorned, for example, it will put a disability on the developing magical core. The lower on the Hierarchy that the need is not fulfilled, the more drastic the effect on the end result. A few, very rare cases where the first level of needs are barely adequate, have been found to suffer from a condition that prevents the core from forming properly, making it nearly impossible to have any direct control over. _Raise up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he shall not depart from it._

* * *

Harry Potter was always lethargic. Aunt Petunia screamed at him all the time, calling him a lazy freak, the worthless son of worthless parents. He didn't _mean_ to be lazy, he just never had any energy for anything. Currently, he was scrubbing the white tile floors of the kitchen. There was a horrendously large red stain on it from where he had spilled the spaghetti sauce the previous evening when his arms gave out carrying it from the stove to the counter. His hands were raw and peeling, a result of both the long hours of work he had already put in and the strong chlorine bleach that was mixed in the water. Not being afforded the luxury of rubber gloves (only worthwhile people used them, according to Aunt Petunia), he dipped his already damaged hands into the bucket of water, not even wincing as the strong acid got into the cracked flesh on his hands.

He truly didn't know how he managed to still work. Being fed what would be sufficient for a person if tripled and worked, worked, worked to the bone every day for the past five years had stripped him of any remnants of baby fat that hadn't already been starved out of him. Maybe it was the threat of unknown heights of agony that kept him moving, or perhaps the desire to satiate his hunger even slightly that did the trick. Whatever the case, he worked.

"What is the meaning of this?" Aunt Petunia's screeching tones startled him out of his trance. "I told you to clean the floor boy, not slop water around on it!"

Harry looked around. While the floor was certainly wet in the area he was scrubbing, the rest of it was dry or damp from already being cleaned. He looked up at her, following her pointing finger.

"Care to explain yourself?" Her bony index finger was pointing at the floor around the bucket. A number of drops of water had spilled over in his wetting the brush. "Nothing to say? Such a shame… I think today was one of your feeding days." She looked at a wall calendar. The day was marked with a red dot in the box. Her face twisted into a cruel smirk, vicious and predatory. "Indeed it is. Or well, it was." Casually, she opened a little bottle of whiteout and dabbed over the dot while continuing to speak. "If it weren't for your horrible blunder, you'd have been able to have the rest of yesterday's leftover spaghetti."

Harry only halfway believed her. Certainly he'd have been allowed to eat some of the pasta, but either it would be so little of a serving he might as well have not eaten at all, or it would be confiscated due to him taking too long or not looking grateful enough.

"And, as an extra reminder for your sloppiness, I think that two more weeks on punishment rations is in order." At this announcement, Harry sighed. He had been on punishment rations for over three years, eating three meals a week and none on holidays. Aunt Petunia always found reason to extend his punishment, all the way back from the original one three years prior. A child, or even a grown-up with less control over their emotions would have broken out into tears at that, but Harry had no tears to cry. It wasn't for his lack of desire at times, but when he was five Uncle Vernon had burned his eyes with bleach. It wasn't enough to make him go blind, but it had severely impaired his vision and made him unable to cry. With a murmured "Yes, Aunt Petunia", he continued his labors.

* * *

Harry stood stock-still in line, waiting for his name to be called. He did not let his eyes wander around the Great Hall in admiration like all the other children were. His eyesight was very poor, even with his glasses, so he wouldn't be able to see much detail anyway. His range of vision was usually sufficient for a classroom setting, but any details over ten feet or so away he could not distinguish. Currently, a Draco Malfoy was being sorted, and from what blurs he could make out, the normally pale boy was looking rather red under the brown blob.

The hat suddenly cried out, but was drowned out by the boy's own cry. "NO! I WILL NOT GO THERE! MY FATHER WILL HEAR ABOUT THIS… THIS… JOKE!" A blue blur grew from the center of the High Table and began to speak.

"Now, now, Mister Malfoy, you know the rules. The hat's decision is final."

A third voice chimed in, that of the hat. "Boy, I've been sorting students for more years than your family line has existed. If I say that you're a Gryffindor, then a Gryffindor you are." Draco still did not move. Harry suspected that there was something going on that he couldn't see or hear. "Now, boy, we still have students to sort." The hat paused for a moment. "Malfoy! Your arguments are simply proving my point that you are indeed a Gryffindor. Now take me off and SIT DOWN!" Even Harry could feel the note of power the voice spoke with. Harry saw the blob that was Draco slowly move over toward the table on the right side of the hall.

Professor McGonagall read off the next name, sounding rather angry as she did so, "Nott, Theodore."

The boy standing next to Harry gave a slight start, then walked carefully down the aisle between the two tables. He was quickly sorted into Slytherin.

_My turn, is it?_ Harry figured. He was forced to wait for another minute as a certain Ms. Perks was sorted into Ravenclaw. "P-Potter, Harry" McGonagall read. All eyes turned toward the small First Year as he walked down the row between the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables. Whispers filled the hall, sounding like a pit of angry vipers with all the hissed comments. He reached the stool and sat, the hat falling down over his eyes.

_Hmm, very interesting, this one._ The hat spoke in his mind. _You have the primary qualities of each of the Houses: intelligence, cunning, bravery, and loyalty, but each of the secondary qualities are… twisted. _

_How so? _Harry thought-asked.

_Well, take ambition, for instance. You are very clever in your ways of hiding, but while your ambitions are monumental in your determination, they are aimed so low that most people wouldn't even consider that as a career. In fact, the only secondary quality of the Houses that isn't twisted and maimed is your work ethic, but even that isn't by choice. You simply know no other way to live. In an ideal world, I would be able to sort you into the House that would benefit you the most, but… I fear that you will terrify your Housemates if I put you in Gryffindor with your being yourself. There's only one place to put you, boy._

_Oh, no… please not Slytherin! _Harry begged. _I've heard horror stories about that place._

_Well, _the hat mused, _its reputation isn't undeserved, especially with this batch of students. Wait… you actually thought I'd put you in there? No, no, boy, they'd tear you limb from limb and feed you to yourself if you went there. _

_Metaphorically, right? _Harry asked, paling at the thought.

_Unfortunately… no._

_Lovely._

_No, child, the place for you is "_Hufflepuff!"

The students were surprised of course, but at least it wasn't Slytherin! The Huflepuff table erupted in cheers, its members filled with pride at the thought of Harry Potter, _the_ Harry Potter in their House. Harry got off the stool and the hat floated off his head. He walked down the two steps and took a seat at his new table in an empty space. The faces of his new Housemates all followed him as he walked and kept looking at him and applauding him even after he had sat down.

_This,_ Harry mused, _will be an interesting year._

* * *

Harry had never been so happy in his life. He was full of hearty, rich food for the first time in his life, he had met at least forty new people who all wanted to be his friends without the threat of Dudley beating them, and him, to a pulp, and he was going to be sleeping on a real bed for once, pillows, blankets and all. One of his dorm mates-Macmillan was it?- called out something to him, but in his first-ever food-driven stupor, Harry was too tired to decipher the sounds the other boy had spoken, and simply shook his head lazily and pulled his curtains shut around his bed. The instant he stretched out on the comforter, he was asleep.

* * *

**Author's Note: This disclaimer goes for all following chapters of this work: I have no rights to the Harry Potter franchise. I do, however, own this work in its entirety. With that out of the way, I'd like to get a few things straight. This story (and all subsequent ones) will not have a common update schedule. I am busy, and this is how my leisure time is spent. This is very low on my priorities list, and there are plenty of mediocre stories to read while you wait for mine to update. Second, I moderate my reviews viciously (vide my profile page for review rules). If I deem your reviews inappropriate or in violation of my rules, it will be deleted. An important note: I am not going to delete a negative review if it obeys my rules. This technically means that "flames" are allowed. Anyways, I hope you enjoy my story. I put a lot of effort into fleshing out my version of Ms. Rowling's world. Please review, follow, or favorite if you so choose. I will upload the next chapter when I am able to get it written. Until that time, **_**adios. **_


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